Bulchevy's Book of English Verse - LightNovelsOnl.com
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The shadows fall more soothing: the soft air Is full of cheering whispers like thine own; While Memory, by thy grave, Lives o'er thy funeral day;
The deep knell dying down, the mourners' pause, Waiting their Saviour's welcome at the gate.-- Sure with the words of Heaven Thy spirit met us there,
And sought with us along th' accustom'd way The hallow'd porch, and entering in, beheld The pageant of sad joy So dear to Faith and Hope.
O! hadst thou brought a strain from Paradise To cheer us, happy soul, thou hadst not touch'd The sacred springs of grief More tenderly and true,
Than those deep-warbled anthems, high and low, Low as the grave, high as th' Eternal Throne, Guiding through light and gloom Our mourning fancies wild,
Till gently, like soft golden clouds at eve Around the western twilight, all subside Into a placid faith, That even with beaming eye
Counts thy sad honours, coffin, bier, and pall; So many relics of a frail love lost, So many tokens dear Of endless love begun.
Listen! it is no dream: th' Apostles' trump Gives earnest of th' Archangel's;--calmly now, Our hearts yet beating high To that victorious lay
(Most like a warrior's, to the martial dirge Of a true comrade), in the grave we trust Our treasure for awhile: And if a tear steal down,
If human anguish o'er the shaded brow Pa.s.s shuddering, when the handful of pure earth Touches the coffin-lid; If at our brother's name,
Once and again the thought, 'for ever gone,'
Come o'er us like a cloud; yet, gentle spright, Thou turnest not away, Thou know'st us calm at heart.
One look, and we have seen our last of thee, Till we too sleep and our long sleep be o'er.
O cleanse us, ere we view That countenance pure again,
Thou, who canst change the heart, and raise the dead!
As Thou art by to soothe our parting hour, Be ready when we meet, With Thy dear pardoning words.
John Clare. 1793-1864
621. Written in Northampton County Asylum
I AM! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
My friends forsake me like a memory lost.
I am the self-consumer of my woes; They rise and vanish, an oblivious host, Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am--I live--though I am toss'd
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dream, Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys, But the huge s.h.i.+pwreck of my own esteem And all that 's dear. Even those I loved the best Are strange--nay, they are stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod-- For scenes where woman never smiled or wept-- There to abide with my Creator, G.o.d, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,-- The gra.s.s below; above, the vaulted sky.
Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 1793-1835
622. Dirge
CALM on the bosom of thy G.o.d, Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!
They that have seen thy look in death No more may fear to die.
John Keats. 1795-1821
623. Song of the Indian Maid FROM 'ENDYMION'
O SORROW!
Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes?
Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?
O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow The l.u.s.trous pa.s.sion from a falcon-eye?-- To give the glow-worm light?
Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on siren sh.o.r.es, the salt sea-spry?
O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?-- To give at evening pale Unto the nightingale, That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?-- A lover would not tread A cowslip on the head, Though he should dance from eve till peep of day-- Nor any drooping flower Held sacred for thy bower, Wherever he may sport himself and play.
To Sorrow I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind: I would deceive her And so leave her, But ah! she is so constant and so kind.
Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, I sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide There was no one to ask me why I wept,-- And so I kept Br.i.m.m.i.n.g the water-lily cups with tears Cold as my fears.
Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, I sat a-weeping: what enamour'd bride, Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds, But hides and shrouds Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side?
And as I sat, over the light blue hills There came a noise of revellers: the rills Into the wide stream came of purple hue-- 'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills From kissing cymbals made a merry din-- 'Twas Bacchus and his kin!
Like to a moving vintage down they came, Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame; All madly dancing through the pleasant valley, To scare thee, Melancholy!
O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
And I forgot thee, as the berried holly By shepherds is forgotten, when in June Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon:-- I rush'd into the folly!
Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood, Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood, With sidelong laughing; And little rills of crimson wine imbrued His plump white arms and shoulders, enough white For Venus' pearly bite; And near him rode Silenus on his a.s.s, Pelted with flowers as he on did pa.s.s Tipsily quaffing.
'Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye, So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your bowers desolate, Your lutes, and gentler fate?'-- 'We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing, A-conquering!
Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide, We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:-- Come hither, lady fair, and joined be To our wild minstrelsy!'
'Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye, So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?'-- 'For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree; For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms, And cold mushrooms; For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth; Great G.o.d of breathless cups and chirping mirth!
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be To our mad minstrelsy!'
Over wide streams and mountains great we went, And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent, Onward the tiger and the leopard pants, With Asian elephants: Onward these myriads--with song and dance, With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance, Web-footed alligators, crocodiles, Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files, Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil: With toying oars and silken sails they glide, Nor care for wind and tide.
Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes, From rear to van they scour about the plains; A three days' journey in a moment done; And always, at the rising of the sun, About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn, On spleenful unicorn.
